


Comic / Strip

by Darklady



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 1945 was not 1645, Gen, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Steve Rogers is also not a prude, Steve Rogers needs a job
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 16:27:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darklady/pseuds/Darklady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With thanks to VolceVoice, who wrote From a Distance - an almost unrelated and much better story which is none the less the reason and inspiration for this one. So it is dedicated to her.</p><p>Tony Stark buys Steve Rogers a bar/strip club. Steve accepts it. Because... reasons.</p><p>If you throw away lines  - someone may pick them up. Watch out for those throw-away laugh lines.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comic / Strip

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [From a Distance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/664996) by [VolceVoice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolceVoice/pseuds/VolceVoice). 



> From a Distance by VolceVoice includes the lines:
> 
> "Then I'll buy you a bar. Hey, Romanov, come help pick out the vodka for Steve's new bar. And a name. How about Spangles?"  
> "Tony . . ."  
> "Going Commando?"  
> Natasha paused in the doorway and gave Clint a small, knowing smile of affection, which he returned. "Are you buying him a bar or a strip club?" she said, before moving on.  
> "Why not both?
> 
> And Musey said "Exactly. Why not." Then this happened.
> 
> Sorry.

“Captain America owns a tittie bar?” Clint Barton was openly surveying the busy space, craning his neck to take in all angles of the dancer twisting her legs around the polished brass pole.

Steve ignored the floorshow in favor of pulling beers for the line of patrons mobbing the long range of mahogany bar. “Technically, Tony also owns it.”

“He just has you run it. And put your name on it.” Not that the red-white-blue letters naming the club as COMMANDO was exactly an arrow pointed straight at Captain America, but given the gold and silver stars spangling the sign? Not exactly a denial. “Because that is such a good idea.”

Fury was going to pop his last eye. Coulson was clearly considering throwing his body on a teeny plastic olive sword to escape the shame.

“OK.” Steve shrugged, face all rueful concession. “Not proof of genius, but I think he was …”

“Drunk?” Coulson offered hopefully.

“I was going to say upset, what with the whole explosion thing, but drunk works.”

“With Stark, it usually does. Briefly, at least.” After that, the tone implied, Tony ended up adding to other people’s workload. Usually Pepper’s. Sometimes Coulson’s, if the explosions were large enough.

“He was here keeping an eye on some factory. I was here…well; I had come out to see the Hoover Dam. He said we should get dinner. We were talking about… you know… other paths. Things we had to give up if we wanted a chance at other things. Things we might have done if we didn’t do the things we did.”

Coulson nodded, face solemn in mutual contemplation.

“And Tony said he wanted to own a nuddie bar?” Barton broke the moment.

“No. I did.”

“Rogers!” Coulson gasped.

“Well, I DID!”

“Steve?” Barton knew that mulish expression. Mostly from post-briefing ‘no sir I don’t think so’ but… it worked here too.

“Burlesque.” Steve stressed the word. “I said burlesque, but.. yes.” He shook his head in counterpoint to Coulson’s denial. “Before the war.” Steve added a hand gesture to mean ‘before this body’. “It wasn’t like I was going to hold a job in a factory, or get into the Longshoremen’s Union. But I was good at art, and math, and … whatever the stories say… I usually got along real well with people. Dames.”

“Steve Rogers.” Barton chuckled. Mostly at Coulson’s shock. “How the legends do lie.”

“Not like that,” Steve backpedaled. “I mean, I could never make any time. But they liked me. Not so much as a thinking I was a Saturday night date sort of guy to like _liked_ me but…”

“Kid brother time.” Barton had his own memories of being the baby in a troop. Backstage life was rough and ready, with affection shown more by noogies than hugs, but … there were good moments in the mix.

“Yeh. Before… and even after, really.” Steve shot a thumb at a framed poster taking pride of place behind the bar. One of the surviving tour posters showing a dancer in flag colors kicking a cartoon Keiser in the keister. “The Star Spangled Dancers. They said I did good routines. And sets. And costumes.”

“So.” Coulson was slowly coming back to himself. “You wanted to do Broadway?”

“As if.” Steve openly laughed. “But?” His eyes grew soft. “Back then… people went to bars more then today. Or maybe differently. Not so much just for the drinking. There were lots of neighborhood places were you could get a sandwich for dinner and listen to a pretty girl sing. Dance. You know.”

“Actually.” Barton went to his own memories. “I sort of do. “ 

Coulson shot him a look.

“Circus went to some small towns. No television. Not much radio. You make your own fun.”

“And Bucky.” Steve warmed to the story. “He knew how to pull a beer. He worked as a runner, back in the last of Prohibition, and afterwards he got some work tending bar at places that didn’t look overly close at age. So yeh. We were going to save our pay. His from the army. He was having the allotment banked. Me from my job. With so many men gone, even I was making decent pay. We were saving up and after the war, if we made it, we were going to own a bar.”

“A strip bar?” Coulson’s fan-boy dream was dying hard.

“More jazz club. Probably.” Steve held up his hands in the universal ‘who can say’ gesture’. “I mean, Peggy had strong opinions.”

Blam blam blam Clint made gun noises and hand gestures.

Coulson blinked. “So how does your desire for Brass in Brooklyn translate to tassels in Vegas?”

“Well, like I said, Tony…”

“Really, sir,” Barton interrupted, “I think we can end the debrief right there.”

Steve ignored him. “Tony and I were talking. About plans. About regrets. And about Howard, who was going to be our third investor.”

That got a gasp, because Howard Stark was a NK level of emotional no-fly zone.

“Howard agreed to toss in the antique shop. You know, the one that was front for the SSI? No need to keep it up after the war, so he signed it over as his share, and we were going to let him pick the chorus girls.”

Barton turned his attention back to the dancer, who was flipping reverse summersaults along the stage. “Seems fair.”

“Seems HOWARD.” Coulson didn’t sound nearly as agreeable.

“But Bucky died, and then I …well, I died too, even if it didn’t quite last. Howard came back and moved to California and put all his time into building Stark Industries, and … I guess he just never got the time to work on ‘Spangles’.”

At matched looks of confusion, Steve Rogers explained. “That was what we were going to call the place. Spangles. On account of the Star Spangled Man thing, and also because of the …” Here he made flipping motions at chest level. Which made no direct sense, as none of the dancers were wearing stripper tassels, but in a historical sense? The meaning was clear enough.

“So a strip club was Howard Stark’s one failed dream?” Coulson looked… like someone had hit him in the face with a satin burlesque glove. Or maybe – Monty Python style – a fish.

Barton looked like a cat swimming in a cream vat. Uncertain, but surrounded by potential.

Steve just looked sincere.

“Seems that last bit of the story sort of …did something… to Tony. He got this strange look on his face. Something like his usual Howard Stark my-dad-didn’t-love-me pain, but also… happy. Like he had finally gotten one up.” He gave the men his ‘are you following me’ look. They, naturally, were. So Steve continued. “Tony waved the owner of this place over, and they went off to talk, and when Tony came back he had the deed. He dropped it in my lap and said ‘Hey. Live your dream.”

“And that is?”

“That is the whole story of how I ended up co-owning a strip club in Vegas.”

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©KKR 2014


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